Silence
by I'mNotGivingMyNameToAMachine
Summary: A misanthropic, distrustful and wary young Air Force Senior Airman (who also happens to be mute) stumbles across the group and helps them in a time of need. He is then tentatively welcomed among them, but will they ever truly trust him? And is that naïve girl falling for him?
1. Road to Nowhere

It had been days since he'd seen anything move that was actually alive. But after the debacle of last week, this came as a relief more than anything.

He walked now with the sun at his back, along a small, dead and deserted highway heading to an unknown destination. All he needed was a safe place, a structure, to lay low in for a couple of days to work out a long term plan.

Though 'safe' was a rather relative term these days. He just needed somewhere safer than the open highway to gather his bearings and set a concrete, accomplishable goal for what little future possibly remained for him.

So, until such a temporary shelter was found, he was committed to walk along the desolate highway, totally devoid of life, and populated with multiple abandoned and wrecked cars and other assorted debris. The people who had driven these cars could've been like him. They were just following the road. No plan, no destination, no hope. Only, from the looks of things, not many of these people had made it out. Every few cars there was a body or two to go with them. Sometimes they lodged behind the steering wheel or in the backseat of a car, sometimes they were strewn pathetically on the ground nearby. Some of them were charred or maimed in some way, indicating they had been attacked or perhaps had been the attackers. All of them were horribly decomposed and looked mummified.

He would not end up like them. He would not die here.

It was no small fact that at the very least he wanted out of Georgia. He wanted out of that wretched, humid state; never wanted to be there in the first place. But, orders were orders and that was where he'd been stationed. It would be unacceptable to die here. Somewhere else, maybe. But not in Georgia…

So very much had happened, he reflected, as his combat boots made their rhythmic, soothing patter on the sun scorched highway. So very, very much. Most of which he didn't want to think about right now, not when basic survival was a pressing concern. Maybe later.

Maybe.

But not now.

Death, he thought, even after all that had happened to him, was not an option. Not after all he had survived, not after the key tools and supplies he had managed to gather. It would be a shame to go at this point, and he wasn't going to allow it.

Not to mention his mere survival had been an order to him. Not a kind request, or suggestion, but an order. And not even one pertaining to the uniform he wore, and would continue to wear until his death or until it finally rotted off his body. It had been an order from a far more personal source, and he was hell bent on following it. Additionally, the thought of being one of them was so repulsive and undesirable, that he just couldn't let it happen. Mindlessly roaming the world for what could possibly be an eternity wanting only some poor soul to feast on? He couldn't think of many worse fates than that.

The sun continued beating down, and he was grateful, for the thousandth time that the black aviator sunglasses he perpetually wore had survived the entirety of his journey.

His eyes didn't handle brightness very well. The South, on a whole, was not very good to him. He really hated it here.

It occurred to him once again that he may never see home again. It was three thousand miles away and the rate he was going not getting much closer anytime soon. He wondered once again if anyone back home had survived this undead apocalypse. Doubtful. And even if they had, the odds of him ever finding them, any of them, was scarce to none.

It mattered little, really. He knew that society had broken down entirely. There were survivors, plenty of them, but he had seen firsthand the barbarism that many had devolved to. He wondered how many good, decent people were left. And how long they would remain that way, even if there were now.

He would've carelessly drifted further into thought had a rustling noise not jarringly brought his attention back to the present. He quickly cursed himself for losing focus even for that brief moment, as he raised his most prized and important possession, his MP5 submachine gun, to his shoulder, ratcheted the bolt to put a round in the chamber, and began scanning the immediate area for the cause of the noise.

It didn't take him long to find it.

Behind a nearby SUV with flattened tires, one of them was sauntering down the highway, heading in the same direction he was.

It had been a middle aged man, with graying hair before it had turned. And, like most of them, it was incredibly inobservant and had not seemed to notice his presence.

He flicked the safety off the MP5 and quickly scanned the area, knowing full where that where there was one, there was more. Usually plenty more.

They tended to gather together and move like schools of fish. If one changed direction for whatever reason, the others would follow suit.

This snowball effect of undead was usually the reason that they were so proficient at swarming and killing people. If not for their numbers, they had nothing.

Alone, they were vulnerable.

But unfortunately, this one was wasn't alone.

Up ahead a few hundred feet next to a tractor trailer and its cargo trailer, two more were shambling down the highway. He scanned for a few more seconds to make sure there were no more any closer to him, and then he decided on his course of action.

Flicking on the safety and shouldering the MP5 using the sling attacked to the weapon, he pulled off his backpack and pulled the hammer out of it.

The hammer was just a regular construction hammer, though it was made entirely from metal with a rubberized grip. Not made from wood, which would be well prone to breaking for what he needed to use it for.

Next he reflexively checked the large bandage on his neck to see if the wound underneath was bleeding through again. Though nearly a week old, the injury was prone to reopening, and if it had and was bleeding, the scent would act as a beacon, drawing them to him.

He rubbed the bandage carefully, noting the barely tolerable level of pain it produced. If he hadn't been cleaning and changing the bandages with the regularity he had using the medical supplies he had found in an abandoned ambulance three days ago, he would've probably been incredibly sick from one infection or another by now. The medical supplies he had had from before would've long run out if he hadn't found that ambulance. He had been incredibly lucky.

He checked his fingers for blood, but saw none. Good.

He then pulled off his hat and set it on his backpack. Then, leaving his pack on the ground, but keeping his MP5 securely on his back, he moved like a wraith forward the twenty five feet, and using a two handed grip, he swung the hammer as hard as he could, aiming at the back if it's head.

Scoring a direct hit, the hammer, sunk three inches into the thing's skull, which disintegrated, sending blood and brain matter several feet in multiple directions. The thing hit the ground hard never knowing what had hit it, and didn't move further.

Pulling hard, he wrenched the hammer from its skull, and scanned down the road to see if the other two had noticed him dispatching their compatriot .

They hadn't; they were still mindlessly moving down the road.

Checking the fallen thing one last time to confirm it was dead, he moved back to his gear, and put his backpack back on. He folded his hat neatly and set it in his right thigh pocket, next to one of his pistols, the small Kel-Tec P32, and set his sights to eliminating the other two as quietly as he could.

He moved noiselessly from abandoned car to car, MP5 at his shoulder in the style he had been trained the carry such a weapon, hammer tucked in his belt, ready to be used.

The two of them we parallel with the semi truck, now, and he wanted to take them out before he they got much further. From the point of cover behind the large truck he could determine if there were any more of them, and then decide on what the next course of action would be.

He was within a few paces of the first one now, one that had been a fairly attractive young woman before it had turned, and he stopped, slinging the MP5 once again and pulling forth the hammer.

She took a solid hit to the side of the head, and her body slumped into the side of the truck's trailer, making a noticeable 'thump' sound.

He pulled the hammer from her skull and waited for the reaction from the second one; surely he had made enough noise to alert it.

But he hadn't, it seemed. The thing still moved away from him, not even knowing he was there.

Glancing down, he checked the body in front of him to make sure it was done.

It didn't move further, and he allowed himself some slight satisfaction at how good he had become at taking these things out with one, silent hit.

He then squinted his eyes and looked down the straight stretch of highway, nearly a quarter of a mile away, he estimated, and saw something that he hadn't been able to from further away.

Something that made his stomach tighten.

Movement. A lot of it.

For whatever reason, the abandoned cars and debris were scarce from this point forward over the distance he could see. But from what he could tell, there was a huge traffic jam of vehicles up the road and right in front of it, about to shamble into it, was a huge group of them. Dozens, at least. But at this distance, it was difficult to tell for sure. It could very well have been a group of survivors that this trio of them had been stalking.

Glancing back at the one that remained, and checking that it hadn't realized he was there, he glanced up. He had to get on top of the trailer and use his binoculars to figure out what that group was.

Waiting patiently for the one that remained to shamble further down the highway, he quietly made his way to the cab of the truck, dropped his backpack and pulled out his set of binoculars, which he considered his second most important possessions, even in front of the several handguns he was lucky enough to have obtained. He used the neck strap the sling the binoculars over his shoulder with the MP5, and glanced to the cab of the truck.

He quickly but thoroughly checked for any of them that might've been inside the cab, glanced back to make sure that the one he knew about still hadn't noticed him, and once he was satisfied he set about climbing the truck.

After a few tense moments, he made it to the top and took a knee, finding a spot and a position that offered the most stability.

He then quickly pulled his aviators off and folded them, attaching them to the collar of his ABU uniform jacket. He then raised the binoculars from his shoulder and pressed them to his brow.

Focusing the eyepieces on the movement down the highway, his stomach sank as what little hope he had that this was a group of survivors evaporated.

It was indeed a group of them. And his initial estimate of dozens was accurate.

Lowering the binoculars for a moment, he tried to think of what to do now. Unless the entire group of them decided to veer into the woods for no reason, he would need to formulate a new plan and find a new route. This wasn't such a tragedy, as he had no set long term plan or route at this time, but it still threw a rather large wrench in his current, short term plan. There was nothing behind him for days, save the one gas station, and he couldn't return there. There wasn't anything else unless he had missed something.

He wondered that maybe if he went through the woods around them, if that would work. But he quickly dismissed this plan as in the woods he would lose his lengthy line of sight, and travel through that terrain could be difficult. Perfect for them to surround and ambush him.

Raising the binoculars and peering through them again, he watched as the herd of them began to make their way through the section of packed cars. He watched their slow, shambling movements with dread. It was amazing to think that all of them had been people not so long ago.

He wondered what was motivating them to go in this direction of all directions. The fact that it was the same one he himself was going in further fascinated him. What did they want down this desolate highway?

He peered further along the traffic jam of long abandoned vehicles to see if there was anything else of note to see.

What he was about to see would change everything.

His body froze and he felt a chill down his spin. His skin began to crawl, and his hands started shaking ever so slightly as his binoculars hovered on an old RV in the middle of the sea of vehicles.

There was a man on top of that RV. And even at this distance, he could tell that the man was alive. This man was a living breathing human being.

Scanning the immediate area quickly, he determined there were more people alive there. It was hard to tell from there, but some looked like woman and children.

And they looked completely oblivious to the swarm that was descending on them.

He didn't know if they had noticed the swarm. He didn't know if the swarm at noticed them. All he knew, was he had to do something. He couldn't let those people die. He didn't even know if they were still decent people, or the barbarians that he knew now existed. But he couldn't stand by and do nothing.

Placing the binoculars aside, he pulled the MP5 to his shoulder and scanned to find the one he let live. He could signal the survivors, he could lure the swarm, and he could eliminate this one, all with a single bullet.

He centered the thing's head in his sights and even at over a hundred feet, from his vantage point it was an easy shot. He pulled the trigger and a single gunshot rang out, seeming even more loud after the days of silence that had proceeded it. The thing hit the ground hard, most of its head blown away by the nine millimeter round.

Pulling the binoculars up once again he checked for any change in the swarm's direction of movement, or in the behavior of the survivors.

The man on the RV was now in a prone position and there were no other survivors to be seen.

But the swarm's direction had not changed.

Either they hadn't heard his gunshot, which seemed unlikely, or they had seen the survivors and were now in pursuit.

Whatever the case, he wouldn't stand by and let it all unfold without a say.

Quickly descending from the truck, he stowed the binoculars in his backpack and put the bag on, tightening the straps to make sure it stayed on firmly.

He checked the hammer and all of the other items on his belt to make sure they were secure. He then checked all the pockets and his uniform to make sure they were buttoned. He then pulled his aviators from his collar and put them into the top pocket of his jacket, buttoning it afterwards.

He then took off at as fast a run he could safely pace himself for, MP5 clutched to his chest and ready for use. He could always turn around and retreat if things got really bad, but he was determined to help these people. Even if he turned the swarm's full attention on him, he could outrun them in the retreat. In he had to turn around anyway, he might as well help this group of survivors before he did.

In just a few minutes he'd be in the thick of it.

He was about halfway there when the gunfire began.


	2. No Plan

After hearing that first shot, his even jogging pace became a fully fledged sprint; his backpack, while not all that heavy, other than the extra ammunition he had in it, swayed uncomfortably back and forth acting as an irritating obstacle that prevented him from hitting his top running speed.

Thankfully, the bag stayed on tight, though this small detail couldn't have been further from the forefront of his mind.

All he thought about were those people up ahead of him; the dozens of the undead creatures that now undoubtedly knew they were there; and what exactly he was going to do to help the situation.

A second shot and then a third closely followed, as he ran, trying to keep his breathing level, MP5 tucked tightly to his chest.

What was his plan here, he thought. What exactly was he going to do?

He smiled a little in realization. No plan. Just get in there, do something constructive, and stay alive.

Several more shots sounded, and from what he could tell, they were all from the same weapon. This meant one of several things. Either this group of survivors only had one gun between them, or some brave bastard was acting as a distraction, trying to get the swarm to follow him. He sincerely hoped for the latter scenario.

If this group really only had one gun, and the swarm had descended on them, they were well and truly finished. If someone was distracting the swarm and pulling it away for even a few more moments, all he had to do was show up, hit the swarm from the rear, draw their attention to him, do a prompt about face and scurry back on down the road, swarm in tow, leaving this group to get the hell out of the area unopposed.

The only good news so far, was that he hadn't heard any of the telltale screams of utter agony that victims usually issued shortly before their horrific deaths. Granted, he might currently be just too far away, and the blood and adrenaline pounding in his ears from the run certainly didn't help matters, but it seemed like a good sign.

His boots pounded on the pavement as he neared the motley collection of abandoned cars. He leapt over a decayed corpse in the middle of the road, not even bothering to change direction. It occurred to him how much he hated running in combat boots. He'd have shin splints later, for sure.

That is, if he survived until later.

He entered the first section of wrecked cars at a full run, only slowing down to make alterations to his course to move around the vehicles.

There were several more gunshots, that sounded so close to him, he was almost afraid he'd run head on into the shooter, surprise them and then get shot, which would be such a stupid way to die

So, he slowed up more, raised the MP5 and made immediate situational awareness the current sole purpose of his being.

Checking the bandage on his neck, he discovered that his run had opened the wound and blood was seeping through. It didn't seem bad, but the damage was done.

He wanted to be a distraction and the scent of blood would certainly help.

Moments later, he saw the tail end of the swarm.

He aimed at one of them, placing its head directly in his crosshairs, and he downed it with a perfect shot, blood and decomposed brain matter raining down around the fallen corpse. He then repeated this process six times, noting with satisfaction at the exploding head effect of each shot, confirming each kill.

He alternated every couple of shots with a complete three hundred and sixty degree spin to see if anything was sneaking up on him, before resuming his shooting spree.

Nothing was coming from any other direction, and it was obvious that the snowball effect was working. They were all moving as one, and any stragglers that had been sauntering around here by themselves, if there even were any, had been picked up and added to the swarm that was moving inexorably down the highway for whatever reason.

After passing few more sections of vehicles, and five kills later, the main bulk of the swarm came into view, along with the old RV, and the man who was still in a prone position lying on top of it.

There were still dozens of them, and they were still moving lazily down the highway not seeming to have noticed the man on the RV at all.

What was strange was while their movements were faster than their default, mindless nothing-in-the-area-to chase shuffle, they weren't moving at top speed.

From way more experience then he really would wanted to have in the matter, he knew this meant that while they were alerted to the presence of fresh meat, they didn't know exactly where it was, and had nothing tangible to chase after.

But, despite the fact that he had fired the MP5 eleven times since he'd entered the sea of cars, and once further down the road, they weren't coming for him.

That meant that that they must have been hell bent on finding whoever it was who was firing off random shots here.

Whoever that shooter was, they hadn't fired in a few minutes. And since the swarm wasn't dog pilled around on some poor soul anywhere that he could see, and that he still hadn't heard any screams to indicate that they had indeed caught someone, it seemed hopeful that the shooter was still alive somewhere.

Whatever the case, it was time to pull the swarm's attention entirely to him.

Checking around again to make sure there weren't any of them he had missed, he mounted the roof of the biggest vehicle he could find in the immediate area, a dark blue Chevy Avalanche, and he took a knee on its roof. He removed his backpack and set it beside him and opened the back pouch on it, which was reserved for the four extra magazines he had for the MP5. He'd likely need to reload it once or twice before he'd need to flee the area. Though this, of course, depended on how many there were. If there were more than he could handle here, he'd still probably have to reload at least once before taking off.

But at that point the swarm would be so hot for him, his mission would've been successful, and he could retreat knowing that somewhere at least some of those survivors had made it out alive.

He pulled one of the extra magazines from the backpack, and tapped it lightly, to make sure it fed correctly whenever he'd need it. He delicately placed the magazine next to him and moved around a bit to adjust his shooting position. Getting fully comfortable, he aimed the MP5, finding a nice, easy target.

Then, giving himself a few leisurely seconds between shots to take a deep breath and make sure every shot counted, he began systematically picking off the swarm, proving the Marksman Ribbon he had earned back in Basic Training had been no fluke.

They were clustered mainly around the old RV now, and after downing four of them, they began turning and schooling in his direction, following the noise of his gunfire.

They hadn't seen him yet or they would be moving at full speed, so that gave him some more time to be relaxed, aim smart, utilize every bullet, and down as many of them as he could.

He was thankful, not for the first time, that he was a good shot, and that he had managed to acquire a small and light but accurate weapon with perfect sights for this very task. The fact that it came with thirty round magazines was a plus, even if he only loaded them with twenty seven bullets, to ease the pressure on the magazine's internal spring. He had to make the magazines last a while, the rest of his life, so why wear the springs more than he had to?

And even though he was excellent with firearms, it was the fact that he didn't panic that truly made him of higher quality than the average Joe with a gun. When people panic, they mess up. And he had quickly come to the realization that in this new world, when people panicked, they messed up and subsequently died. Usually horribly.

The swarm was over there, two hundred feet away, and he was here on top of a car. He was fine. No reason to panic. Be alert, yes. Panic, no.

He fired twice more and quickly eliminated two others before the entire swarm had decided that something worth eating must be in the direction of the gunfire, and had all began drifting towards him. He had their full attention now. Their only purpose in life now was finding, catching and eating him.

But not only that, he had the attention of the man on the RV, too. And even at several hundred feet away, he could see with bemusement the look of utter surprise on the man, complete with gaping mouth.

He wished he could offer a verbal greeting to the man, and prayed that he would continue doing exactly what he had been doing: staying right there and staying quiet. Same thing for the rest of the survivors, wherever they were.

Though maybe he had been imagining things, and there was only this single, RV man who was even alive here. He could have sworn he had seen others, but he had been so far sway that maybe they had just been more of the undead. They hadn't moved like them though, but again, it might've been just an illusion.

What was more frustrating about this thought was if the RV man was really the only survivor after all, then this whole excursion was probably a total waste of time, energy and bullets.

Maybe the RV man was the shooter he had heard. Maybe he had seen a few of them, shot them, realized how many there truly were and took cover before they knew he was there. The man could've had a gun, though it was impossible to confirm at that distance without help from the binoculars, which were stowed away in his backpack.

But it mattered little. From the looks of things the swarm would've sailed right by the man, oblivious to his presence, and continued their pointless little adventure down the road, making his entire distract the swarm and rescue the survivors mission totally pointless in every way.

Trying to ignore those thoughts, he fired and dropped a few more of the creatures. Even if the RV man was the sole survivor and even if the mission was pointless, he was still committed to it. Might as well see it through and make sure this one guy lived to see tomorrow. That was the absolute least he could do and he was already here, anyway.

He fired again, and gave a small wave to the man, to attempt to let him know that things were okay and that he had this under control. He then did anther of his patented, situational awareness driven, three hundred sixty degree spins to make sure that none of them were coming at him from a different direction.

Satisfied that nothing was, he turned his attention back to the swarm, calmly picked off three more, and looked around the area to see if the general dynamic had changed at all.

It hadn't seemed to.

The swarm, now somewhat diminished, had moved completely past the RV and he could now see how many were left.

Over fifty of them, at least, he quickly estimated.

They were within a hundred feet of him now and the ones in front suddenly saw him, confirmed in whatever little mental capacity they had left that he tasted good, and hit top speed to hunt him down.

His senses heightened; this was the moment where things got truly dangerous. They were onto him, and they could possibly be tough if not impossible to shake.

He fired a few more times, making every bullet worthwhile. The charging handle on the MP5 locked back, signifying he was empty. He tore the magazine out of the gun, jammed it into the open pouch of the backpack, gingerly picked the fresh one off the car roof and slammed into his weapon.

Slapping the bolt back into to place and chambering a round, he snapped the MP5 back to his shoulder and calmly took four more of the frontrunners down.

To his knowledge, he hadn't missed a shot yet. This meant that he'd gotten thirty one of them, thirty of them here, and that there were still at least fifty more bearing down on him.

With the twenty four rounds left in this magazine and three more loaded with twenty-seven each, he had enough firepower to deal with all of them if he so chose.

But they were within seventy feet of him now and the only reason why they weren't closer was that they had to filter through all of the abandoned cars, slowing them down. He wouldn't have nearly enough time to shoot all of them from his current vantage point, and he wasn't going to chance it and stay on the Avalanche when they got here.

They may not have been good climbers, but when they all clustered around something, their sheer mass and general disregard to their own safety could have some weird and deadly effects.

So, he decided it was high time to bail out. He had accomplished his task, lured the swarm and had at least saved this one man. And who knew? Maybe if he could give the swarm a slip he could double back again and introduce himself properly to the extent he was able without a voice, and hope to God that the man he had just saved still had some basic decency and humanity left.

Even though he wasn't much fond of the company of people, especially not now, it was always good to affirm that one wasn't completely alone in the world.

But the swarm was getting ever closer, fast, and he needed to have a good head start on them, so he quickly killed all pointless tangents of thought, secured his backpack and slung it onto his back, and stood up doing one last survey of the area, checking his path of retreat to make sure there was nothing there to obstruct it.

He turned back and gave the RV man a final wave and wished, not for the first time, that he could actually say something.

But since he couldn't, there was nothing more to be done here.

He was just about to climb to the ground and begin another full sprint back the way he came, when something happened that made him feel like someone had instantly pumped his veins full of ice water.

It raised every hair on the back of his neck.

Someone screamed.

It sounded like a little girl.


	3. Forest

His already heightened senses reached a peak that had only been surpassed a few times in his life, most of those occasions coming after the world had ended.

He whirled back around, careful to maintain his balance on top of the SUV, and brought the MP5 to bear, pointing in the direction of the swarm while simultaneously trying to pinpoint where the scream had emanated from.

The swarm seemed, at first, undeterred in their choosing of him as their next target, still shambling inexorably in his direction and it took him several tense moments of looking before he found any abnormality in the swarm's movements.

Several of them, two or three, where surrounding a small sedan near the back of the swarm itself, about fifty feet from the old RV.

It was instantly obvious to him that the scream had come from there, and that there was a living person in or near that car.

Quickly deciding what to do, and finding the closest target, his plan was to begin picking them off again, reasoning that he had to resume shooting to get those four or five interested in him again and not whoever was in that car.

But before he had even fired a single shot, that plan became moot.

A tiny figured appeared from under the sedan and, screaming while narrowly avoiding the grasping arms of one of them, quickly darted off the highway and into the forest.

The small group of them quickly took up pursuit and they too quickly vanished into the woods.

It had been a child, he now fully realized with dread. His initial guess that it was a little girl now seemed to be the case.

"Sophia!" a man yelled from somewhere in the sea of cars and, seeming to appear from nowhere, a cop popped out from under a different car, fired several shots at the rear of the swarm with a large revolver and tore into the woods after the girl and her pursuers.

The swarm slowly began to transfer its attention to the two people who had just fled the highway, and this he couldn't allow.

Snapping the MP5 onto the nearest target, he fired five ineffective shots in quick succession, creating as much noise as he could, using the only method he had to do so.

Even though he didn't hit a single one of them, this achieved the desired affect and in moments the swarm's full attention was back on him.

Without consciously thinking up any set plan, he then carefully climbed off the SUV and, not even looking back at the swarm, which was now within fifty feet of him, he quickly ducked behind the nearest vehicle and waited a few moments.

They had now lost their line of sight with him, and would go to his last spotted location which was a few feet to his right.

Staying low and keeping behind several cars, he moved as quickly and quietly as he could into the forest, praying they hadn't spotted him doing so. If they had, they'd follow him and then he'd have serious issues to deal with, and would have to either evade or take on the swarm in the exact environment where he hadn't wanted to in the first place.

Moving as quickly as he could, he kept his breathing even, listening closely for any telltale signs of the two survivors or the small group of them that was intent on finding and killing them.

They had entered the forest about eighty feet from where he had, and had gotten about a twenty second head start, so if they'd gone in the opposite direction, it could prove to be difficult tracking them down.

So, he moved laterally, going simultaneously away from the road and towards where they had entered the forest, hoping that this would be the best way to find them.

The MP5 was raised and ready for use, though he didn't much want it to come to that. If the swarm on the highway hadn't figured out where he had gone, then firing the weapon, even if the sound would be somewhat muffled by the trees, could be all the prompting they'd need to come after him.

His hammer was still tucked into his belt, and that would be the likely weapon of choice if the group of them running around in here was as small as it had initially appeared to be.

Still listening for any noise, he took some comfort in the fact that he hadn't heard any further screaming, which, of course, could've meant that the survivors were still alive.

What exactly was he doing?

It suddenly flashed in his mind just how stupid and ill planned this entire mission had been. He had gone out of his way to help survivors who may very well have been just as evil as the last group of such people he had encountered. He had no idea who they were and how they operated.

Was it worth risking what little he had left to help people who he didn't in the least know or understand?

Would it be what she would have wanted him to do? Risk everything she had made him promise he wouldn't?

He didn't know the answers. He used to, but he didn't now. Everything had changed so very much that nothing that had happened before this had any bearing on how life was now. He didn't know what she would have him do. But he had made her a promise, and whatever crazy scheme he had gotten himself embroiled in, he had better keep it.

So, knowing full well that what he was currently doing was incredibly stupid in every way, he committed himself to it.

It would hard to retreat now, anyway. So, might as well see it through.

With renewed vigor, he continued his search.

He was just about to stop and assess his immediate surroundings when he almost ran full force into one of them.

The creature turned to him, snarled and lounged, reaching for his face.

Reacting automatically, he whipped the MP5 around and hit it in the side of the head with the weapons telescoping stock, which knocked it aside a few feet and bought him a moment of precious time.

Holding the MP5 by its fore grip in his left hand and quickly extracting the hammer from his belt with his right, he assumed a fighting stance, and braced for the creature's follow up attack.

Straightening up, the creature (which had been a kid not much younger than he was before it had turned) snarled and lunged at him again.

Arching his body around, and using his arm like a sling, he struck the thing as hard as he could with a one handed grip, hitting it square in the forehead and burying the head of the hammer into its skull.

He hated using one handed grips, but he had had little choice. Dropping the MP5 was unacceptable and he had had no time to sling it on his back.

So, when the creature fell aside, finished, the force of it falling was too much for his one hand to handle, and the corpse ripped the hammer from his hand.

Bringing the MP5 back to bear at his shoulder, he began doing a complete spin to determine if the commotion he had caused killing this one had drawn the attention of others.

He was nearly finished with his spin when he heard the unmistakable cocking sound of a pistol, and he found himself face to face with the cop, not fifteen feet away, who had the large revolver casually but firmly trained at his chest.

"Freeze," the cop demanded quietly. "Drop your weapon."


	4. Standoff

The pair stood, frozen, for what seemed like an entirety.

He had a firm grasp on the MP5, which was pointed away from his body, towards the ground. His head was tilted to the side so he could directly stare at the man who now held him at gunpoint.

The cop unwavering gripped the revolver, aiming directly at his heart. The man had a tired and defeated yet edgy expression, and his eye darted around every few moments, as if he was expecting to be attacked at any moment.

This was wise, he thought, staring the cop down. He was of course doing the same thing. And, like always, he was listening to everything around him. This was not a good moment to be attacked by the creatures.

"I said drop your weapon," the cop repeated quietly, in a smooth southern accent. "I don't care about that uniform you're wearing. You must understand that. But this isn't personal."

He simply stared back at the cop, unable to answer, wondering what he'd say even if he could.

Raising the MP5 a bit to test his boundaries, the cop suddenly straightened up and his expression changed to one of anger, like an animal that was suddenly backed into the corner.

"You make no mistake," he said, voice full of menace, " I will kill you. I don't want to, but if you push me, you die. Drop your goddamn weapon."

He simply stared back for a few moments, trying to find a weak point in the cop, trying to decide what exactly to do.

It was really beginning to look now that he had made a huge mistake. He should've left this group alone. Let the creatures do whatever they would've to them. It looked like he was about to die, or would soon if he surrendered, and he had sacrificed what little he had left for no real good purpose. It looked like he had broken his promise after all. And didn't even do so for a good reason. The mere thought of this saddened him greatly.

He contemplated briefly how much time it would take to whip the MP5 the foot and a half distance he would need to to put the cop in his sights, and shoot the man. He wondered if he would be fast enough to surprise the cop and put him down before he had a chance to shoot back.

He decided almost instantly that there was no way he could do so without getting shot first.

And that revolver looked like a .357 Magnum, so all the cop would need was one shot, anyway.

But he didn't drop the MP5. He simply stared with polite interest at the cop, waiting for what the man would do next, still listening closely to his surroundings for any movement near him.

"Was that you doing the shooting on the road?" the cop asked, voice lacking the ferocity it had had a few moments earlier.

He slowly nodded once.

"And you did that to help us, didn't you."

It wasn't a question, but he slowly nodded again regardless.

"And you saw a little girl run in here and came in here to get her."

This time he didn't even bother nodding; he made eye contact with the cop, who already seemed to know the entire situation.

"Then don't make all of that pointless. I know you went out of your way to help us, but I still can't trust you yet. Put the gun down and we can talk this out like men. That little girl could still be in here. I need to get back to my people to see if she made it back safe... Don't make me kill you."

Studying the cop's face for a moment, looking for any dishonesty, yet finding none, he finally removed his right hand from the MP5's pistol grip and raised the weapon out, holding it by the fore grip.

He held the weapon out to his side, raising his right hand in surrender, before slowly slinging the weapon over his shoulder, where it pressed against his backpack.

Then, under the cop's ever watchful eye, he unbuttoned his right thigh pocket, extracted his folded ABU cap and flicked his wrist to open the hat up before putting it on.

He left his pocket unbuttoned, as it contained his small Kel-Tec P32 pistol, and now he had quick access to it. Just in case.

The cop then lowered the revolver, his stance no longer tense.

"Thank you," He said. "I'm Rick Grimes."

The cop waited a few moments for him to respond in kind and introduce himself. He simply pointed to the bandaged and still bleeding wound on his neck.

The cop, Rick, blinked several times. "You can't talk?"

Well, at least the man caught on fast, he thought, shaking his head no.

But thankfully, he had a non verbal way to tell Rick his name. Moving to squarely face the man, he pointed to the name stitched onto the Air Force ABU jacket on his right chest.

Rick squinted to read it.

"Wakefield..." he stated. "Well, nice to meet you Wakefield."

Wakefield nodded once, moving his head around to scan the immediate area for any movement of any kind.

Rick holstered his revolver and offered a small smile, though his face looked anything but happy. It looked weary and scared.

"Air Force, huh?" he said, looking at Wakefield's uniform.

Wakefield, not amused, simply nodded once.

"Well, all right. It'll be nice having someone professionally trained around."

Wakefield managed to keep himself from smiling. Sure, he was trained. But for this sort of survival against this sort of enemy? Was anyone anywhere really trained for that? And his job hadn't been anything involving direct combat, anyway. Evidently Rick hadn't noticed the patch on the jacket's left side, under the patch that read U.S. AIR FORCE.

"Okay," Rick said. "Let's get back to the road. We have to take care of that injury on your neck, and you have a lot of people you need to meet."


End file.
